My Brothers, My Swans
by TallieCat
Summary: Lisette tells her story. (Complete)


**_Disclaimer:_** _I don't know who, if anyone, actually owns the original (dozen or so versions of the) Swan Princes, but just in case, I'd like to remind everyone that that includes me. I do, however, own this particular incarnation._

**My Brothers, My Swans**

Why did our father have to remarry?

Mother's death had been a terrible blow to us but in time, as is usually the case, the pain faded. We were happy.

How often does one find true happiness in a lifetime? Are we each allotted a portion, perhaps, to be spent once only during the long span of our lives? And if such is true, and your happiness is shattered by sorcery, is that the eternal end to your time of joy?

Such thoughts have plagued me since I have begun my weary task, and it is hard for me to suppress them. I dare not linger over them, however, lest I break my silence from silly, selfish frustration.

Over, under, over, under, pull the coarse yarn taught as you dare, over, under, over, under....

I'd like to say I well knew what I was doing, but my experience with spinning and weaving and sewing, until now, was all but nonexistent. I was a fair hand at embroidery, as are all women of the higher classes, but what good would such a craft do me now? When I was young, at least, I used to spend long hours watching the royal spinners at their work—one even gave me a little drop spindle, which I often carried with me in my sleeve as a child, to play with when my dear brothers were learning sword craft and other such things, as I was not permitted to learn with them.

I must say, that little spindle serves me well, now. If ever we are free, I swear I shall find that good woman and make sure that she will never have to spin another thread, so long as she lives.

Over, under, over under...I believe I am getting better at this. Over the last few years, my lines have become much straighter than they once were, and my fingers—torn as they are—have learned to move faster than I once thought was possible.

Ah, there is the end of the thread....time to fetch some more nettles.

Yes, nettles. One thing that I have learned, anyway, is that the harder you grasp them, the less they sting. It's not a perfect strategy. My skin is too easily ripped—a tribute to sixteen long years of scented balms, rosewater baths, and delicate play. My brothers may have taught me coarse work if I had asked them persistently enough, but I never dreamed of disobeying our father. Not until he married . . . _her._

The sorceress.

To even think about it puts a knot into my stomach. But sadly, I've not much to do besides think—there is only so much attention one can stand to give to pulling up armfuls of nettles with their bare skin, or to crushing them into fibers with their bare feet. And even the memory of that dreadful time is better than nothing.

She had come in so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that there was hardly any time at all to think about it . . . Father had not known her for a fortnight before he was completely enamored of her, and had the wedding announced. I'm still not unconvinced that it was some sort of enspellment, on her part. However it was, the wedding took place, despite all our pleading with Father—for we knew something was amiss with her, as whenever our father was not looking she was perfectly horrid to everyone and everything, all over the entire castle. I still remember the poor chamber maids who had been assigned to her, forever running here and there, always set to the most trivial and meaningless tasks and—more often than not—sobbing their hearts out.

She showed her colors to us, personally, on the wedding day. There were tables and tables piled with all of the most wonderful sorts of food, and when the time came for her to give us—her new step children—a morsel to eat, as a symbol of her devotion to us, she gave us little china cups filled with sand, and coldly told us to imagine it was something pleasant, that we might smile and not trouble our father on this happy day.

And, God help us, we did as she told. How could we disobey? She was our new mother. And even though, in retrospect, that idea seems a bit foolish, we were innocent, and the thought of doing or saying anything that might pain our father. . . .

But as the months stretched on, she brought him enough pain. She wove a terrible spell over Father, whispering lies into his ears and turning his heart from his own children. It grew to where he could hardly stand our sight, such horrid disappointments we were in his eyes.

And when she told him my brothers had refused to come home and were probably lost in the Great Woods that encompassed half our little kingdom, he spared them not a thought.

But I had seen.

She hated us. I do not know why, but she did. And her hatred grew stronger with every day that passed, with every smile and laugh that we exchanged. We had grown very dear to each other, my seven brothers and I, and were hardly separated for the world. Perhaps this is what burned her so—that we should have real love, while she would never have but the shadow of it.

However it was, the day our worst troubles began I had been going to meet my brothers in the meadow for an evening ride. When I saw her I hid behind a nearby oak, for I could not bear to listen to whatever biting words she might choose to lay upon me. Instead I watched as she spoke to my brothers, and as she lay her hands upon them. I watched as her face turned to wicked triumph, and as their beautiful faces turned to horror.

I watched as my dear, beloved brothers turned into swans and flew fast away into the setting sun, silver-bright against the royal hues of the sky.

And I was afraid.

My fear held my tongue, and—for all I then knew—condemned my brothers to death by the hunters' arrow. Or worse.

And I began to plead with Father, to let me go find them.

He didn't see why I should. After all, I was his only heir left, and should be held in reserve until his new queen conceived. But after a year of bitter tears and desperate begging, he finally gave me a week's leave and I flew off at daybreak as fast as my legs could carry me.

At twilight, I was forced to sink down into the damp, moldering earthy-scented leaves, for I was so weary that I could not take another step. I don't remember closing my eyes but I woke, nevertheless, to the sound of rushing wings. As I jumped to my feet an astonishing sight met my eyes—seven beautiful swans, each with a golden circlet on its head, swooped down at me from the sky and shook fiercely. As they shook, their feathers clouded away revealing—to my delight—all seven of my brothers. I'm not ashamed to say that there was a great deal of laughing, kissing and crying before we all settled down.

"Dear Lisette," our eldest brother said quite softly. "Have you come all this way alone, for us?"

I buried myself into his embrace again, and told him of what had befallen our home in their absence, begging forgiveness for not speaking out.

"Oh, sweet sister," our middle brother said, his eyes overbright. "If you had spoken, you too would be cursed, even as we! And we could not bear that..."

"But here you stand before me, fully human, as you were!" I exclaimed.

And it was then that they told me—they were only men as long as the sun was sunk below the sky. Long as it shone upon the land, however, they were swans—forced to fly, silent and beautiful, until the sun rested and their wings were gone.

They also spoke to me of this place—a place so far across the sea that they could only fly straight to it on the longest day of the year. All other days, they were forced to stop midway, on a tiny island, barely large enough to hold them. In fact, the only reason they came back at all was in case I might come to seek them out—even as I had.

That very night they decided to take me with them. Instead of sleeping, they spent the long moonlit hours weaving a willow net to carry me in, and we left in the morning, as the sun began to light the sky. As we flew along, my eyes grew so heavy that I could scarce keep them open. And indeed I must have slept, for the Fairy Queen, the Beautiful Morgana of the emerald eyes, visited me in a dream. She told me of how I might break my brother's curse.

"Do you see these stinging nettles, that grow so thickly 'round the cave where your brothers sleep?" she asked. "With your own bare hands you must gather either these, or those nettles that may be growing in a churchyard. Crush them with your own bare feet, and from the yarn that you spin out of them you must weave seven coats with long sleeves—one for each of your seven brothers. When all of the coats are finished--and not a moment before--throw them over the heads of the wild swans. If you can do this, the charm will be broken for all time. But listen carefully to my warning, oh gentle Lisette. If you should speak or laugh but once between the time you begin your task and the time you end, it will be as though you have plunged a dagger into your brothers' breasts, and they will die."

We spent that whole, cold night clinging to each other on the little rock halfway out into the sea, and I told them of my dream. My brothers protested, claiming that they would rather be swans forever than let me endure such suffering.

But I would not hear their protests. "How can I live, fully human, knowing that I alone may break this wretched spell?" I asked them. "Doing so, knowing each day that you may be felled by some hunters' angry arrow...dearest brothers, should that happen, I assure you that I would not outlive one of you."

And as soon as we entered into this wild country, I began my work.

For these past three years I have been gathering, spinning, and weaving, working toothy nettles into coats--staining the coarse, green cloth with my heart. . .and my blood.

It was not so terrible, at first. I had my brothers to surround me every night, to bring me sweet berries to eat, to show me how to start a fire, that I might work into the night, to teach me to cook the wild root. They sang songs to me, some nights before they slept, and they rubbed sweet-smelling herbs into my burning hands, their loving touch making my wounded hands and feet to heal nearly as fast as they were stung.

But one day, as I was gathering a new armful of nettles from around our little cave, a hunting party rode up to us—and at its head was the king of the land my brothers had chosen to dwell in. He was a full head taller than myself, and his soft, red-gold locks curled beneath an astonishingly bare chin. He was clad in burnished leather and a long, flowing velvet-green cape that just matched his passion-lit eyes.

I tried to hide as soon as I caught sight of them, but my efforts were in vain. As soon as he caught glimpse of me, he sprang from his mount and ran towards me.

"Beautiful maiden, tell me your name!" he cried, taking my armful of nettles from me—and dropping it to the ground, as he was fiercely bitten.

I knelt to the earth and began to gather my scattered bundle, all the while praying that he would give up and leave. But he did not.

"Let me carry you with me," he tried again. "Please, come to my palace and be my bride! I have never seen such beauty as yours before. Your hair is the setting sun, your eyes the deepest sky! Let me dress you in velvet and pearls, let me make you my Queen!"

I could feel my heart sink. He was very handsome, I suppose, and obviously extremely enamored, but I couldn't go with him. How could I? And _marry_ him? Even if I had known something about him, even if I wished to marry, I couldn't so much as speak the sacred vows! I shook my head desperately, but he was too blinded to see. As he took my hand, I pulled away, scooping up my bundle and running into our cave as fast as I could. But he would not be swayed.

"Oh maiden, I will not leave you here, to live as you are! Alone and unprotected, and set to such an arduous task! Even if you will not speak, I shall take you with me!"

I hardly had time to grab the five coats that I had finished already before he seized me about my waist and pulled me to his horse. I wept bitter tears, and begged him with my eyes to leave me be, but he would not release me. I don't even know if my brothers know what has become of me, though it was sunset.

That was nearly a full year ago.

Now, I have but one coat left to finish. And one hour left to live.

One hour before I am to be burned at the stake. For sorcery, of all things.

I thought I had been careful—climbing down the heavy, sprawling wisteria vines that crept around my turret window in the heaviest darks of the night to gather nettles from the little churchyard that lay in regal silence just across the way. During the whole night I would sit by a candle and spin and weave, my whirling spindle turned to pale gold by the flickering light, grown ever darker by the black drops spilling from my hands. And during the day I would force myself to endure poor Anthony's attempts at courting. I was bathed in rosewater daily, and dressed in brocaded silks, and scratchy laces, and jewel-encrusted velvets that almost impossibly weighed down my weary limbs. I had four court physicians assigned to me—two to attend to my nettle-wounds, and two ever trying to find a cure to my dumbness. After my time with them, I would be seated at Anthony's right hand for the morning, noon and evening meals, and he would lead me through his ambling, rainbowed gardens for an hour each day, talking of many things. To me he told his dreams for the future—among them the never-decreasing hope that I would, in time, fall in love with him. And after a year, I must say that I have become rather fond of him. . . .the pain and horror on his face when the jealous Archbishop accused me of witchery and tricked him into condemning me to death burns me worse than these nettles. Worse, I dare say, than the pyre in the village square shall.

Over, under, over, under. . . .to his credit, Anthony did try to defend me. In the end, though, he is the King. And if one truly is practicing dark magics he cannot allow them to continue to live, for in time that sorcerer would cause grave harm to all around him. All sorcerers, in the end, tend to hurt people.

No one knows this better than I.

Anthony himself told me that I would be allowed to take the coats with me, to continue to weave until the torch is lit, if that is what I wish. I do not know why this is so, but I am so deeply grateful to him. He has given me hope in this, my darkest hour.

Almost more than anything, I wish I could have told him everything. But so long as there is breath in me, I _must _work for my brothers' lives. I have come too far, done too much, to lose hope now. Hope is all I have left to me. And so I must keep my fingers moving, as they have been so unceasingly these last two days.

Over, under, over, under—even as a somber maid dresses me in a silken white gown. Over, under, over, under, as a man in black helps me into the carriage. Over, under, over, under, as I am led through dozens of jeering townsfolk, and onto the tall pyre. Over, under, over under....they have lit the torch, and I can hear the anguish in Anthony's voice as he orders the timbers to be set ablaze.

I can't stop. I won't. I haven't for pain, for sorrow, for defense—neither will I stop for terror. Not until. . . .

The bundle of coats under my arm nearly drops to my feet as the sound of rushing wings reaches me. Finally! One coat, then another, then another...with the acrid scent of smoldering wood in my throat I threw them all over my brother's heads, and at long last, the spell was broken. The eldest of our brothers ran straight through the flames to get to me, ripping the cord around my waist off with one hand. Our middle brother looked ready to draw his sword—if only he had it—against any and all of those present. Our youngest brother. . . .it was here that I began to cry. He was standing very tall, his sternest gaze fixed against the King, with one fist pressed against his waist and the other. . . .he had no other. Instead of a second arm, he had the beautiful snowy man-sized wing of a swan folded against his back.

I had not finished the last sleeve of his coat, and now he would be forever branded--crippled, perhaps, more by only having one wing than one arm. He had told me, in the long hours of the night when I worked and our other brothers were resting, how much he had come to love the sky. He had longed, as the others, to be a whole man again, but to deny him full manhood and the power of flight all in one stroke was a crueler fate than I could bear to have laid upon him. And yet. . . .He caught my eye, and frowned so severely at my tears that I had to believe he was not nearly as distraught by my failure as I was. I shuddered in relief, and my knees nearly gave out from beneath me as the full extent of what had happened truly registered within my mind. I was not going to die. I no longer held my brothers' lives on my tongue. We were free.

I heard Anthony dash forward towards me, heard his protests as my brothers barred his way. Somehow I managed to collect myself enough to look up at him.

"He has a good heart," I told my brothers firmly. "It was the Archbishop of this place, who wished me harm. He believed me to be a sorceress."

"A sorceress!" my fifth brother gasped. "You, of all!"

I continued to hold the King in my gaze, and drawing myself as tall as I was able, I said, "My Lord Anthony, I am innocent."

My voice was thick and as rough as my hands, as it had not been used for three full years, but the sound of it speaking his name brought tears to the young King's eyes.

"Lisette," our youngest brother started to protest, and I had to press my lips hard together, to keep from crying again.

"Lisette," Anthony repeated softly. "The name of an angel. Please, my only love, tell me what has happened here!"

Several of my brothers looked on the King very sternly indeed at that open declaration of his heart, and moved closer to me as I told our story, right there, in front of the entire village. When I had finished, his face was very grave. "That we were swayed into seeing such devotion, such noble selflessness as evil. . . .oh beautiful Lisette, will you ever forgive me for listening to them!"

"I forgive you," I told him.

"By your leave, and that of your brothers, I will lead a fleet over the sea, to rid your land of the sorceress who has cast you out," he then said, relief clouding his eyes.

My brothers and I stared at each other in surprise.

"We cannot ask you to put yourself in such danger," I started to say.

"You were willing to die to save your brothers. Is it so hard to believe that I would die to save you? For you must know that if she ever hears of your escape, the sorceress will surely come to kill you all."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I could not think of a single thing to say.

"Lisette, will you marry me now?"

In the last hour, I had been nearly burned alive, I had broken the enchantment on my brothers, losing one brothers' arm in the process, I had spoken for the first time in three years. . . .and I realized that I had somehow managed to begin to fall in love with a silly, doting little King. Suffice it to say, I was fairly reeling with the shock of it all.

"Ask me again in one year," I told him gently, smiling at him for perhaps the first time since he had unknowingly stolen me away from my brothers, so very long ago.

And in one year, when he asked me again. . . .

What could I say, but yes?

This story is a product of a writing class some time ago, and I would be very grateful for any constructive criticism that anyone has to offer. I'm always looking to improve my writing, and no one helps more than those of you who offer reviews! Also, if anyone can think of a better title for this piece, please let me know—it's the one point I always have trouble with, when writing a story. Thank you!


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